


Temporary Bliss

by thelastbarricade



Series: Hemlock Grove Prompted fics [3]
Category: Hemlock Grove, Hemlock Grove (Netflix)
Genre: Drug Use, M/M, Smoking, stoned Romancek boys are the best Romancek boys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-01
Updated: 2013-05-01
Packaged: 2017-12-10 03:27:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/781244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelastbarricade/pseuds/thelastbarricade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter gets Roman stoned.<br/>Should I say much more?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Temporary Bliss

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ohyellowbird](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohyellowbird/gifts).



  "Put down the goddamn cigarette, Godfrey." Peter's voice was muffled in slight as he sifted through a dresser in his trailer.  
  
  Roman lounged against the door of the Rumancek house, smirking as he flicked the flame of his lighter between pressed thumbs.  
  
  Roman perked a brow.  
   
  "Oh, suddenly so concerned about my better health? I'm flattered, pup." A small smile curved itself onto the taller boys lips as he shook his head, lighting his cigarette with a deep inhale, exhaling a cloud of bitter ash through his nostrils.  
  
  "Concerned my fucking-" Peter paused with an abrupt grunt, a crash of glass erupting from the trailer. Roman barely moved, eyes shifting towards the door in slight.  
  
  "You okay-?" There was laughter on the Upir's lips as he spoke, twisting his cigarette in his hand, tapping off the ash.  
  
  "Peachy keen, Twilight." Peter stepped down the trailer stairs with a small bag in hand, brushing back a stray lock of coppery toned hair from the side of his face.  
  Peter held up the bag, Roman left his unimpressed brow perked, still as stone.  
  "Got somethin' way better than that cheap tobacco shit you're always toking."  
  
  Roman tossed his cigarette into the dirt surrounding the property. "It's not cheap. I get my cigs' imported you broke ass Gyp'." A smile rounded off his comment as he pushed himself off the trailer wall.  
  
  Peter snorted, kicking out a jean clad leg to try a kick at the tall slender skyscraper of a man before him. He missed, of course, barely stumbling as he continued his way toward the hammock just at the edge of their little clearing.  
  
  "It's not some hoodoo herbs, is it?" Roman tugged his charcoal hoodie closer to hug his shoulders in the light cold of Autumn that surrounded them (Peter of course, shirtless, seeing as weather couldn't affect the walking furnace of feral heat he was).  
  
  "Of course not." Peter kicked off his slippers and plopped down into the hammock, laying the bag on his chest as he popped the bag open, revealing small hand-rolled blunts. "I grow my own herbs." Peter smirked, laying back atop a ponytail of his long rutheless waves. "None of that cheap imported, shit."  
  
  Roman barely blinked, kicking Peter's ass as it hung low in the hammock. "Scoot."  
  
  "Ow-!" Peter laughed, swinging gently. "You're gonna' make me drop the smokes-"  
  
  "Scoot ya' no good Gyp'." Roman teased, clambering over in a tangle of long limbs and dark fabric over to the spare side of the hammock, feet hanging off the edge as he leaned back.  
  
  Peter gave a low huff, smiled wide on his lips as he scratched at his ever-present stubble. He pressed a rolled stoge between his lips, nudging Roman in the shoulder as he curved his chin toward the other boy. "Light me up, Twilight."  
  
  "Weed." Roman stared back to the other boy with dark eyes filled with the dullest of amusements. "You're kidding me, right?"  
  
  "Mary Jane, jackass. Respect the name, it's like, the herb of my people. And everyone know's you walk around like you've got a giant oak rammed up your-" Peter leaned his head back, squinting at the light sun falling through the tree branches surrounding them.  
  
  Roman elbowed him in the ribs.  
  
  "Oh, pardon me, for your people have done _nothing_ but earn my respect." The Upir bowed his head theatrically as he shoved a hand in his pocket, searching.  "I should have known." Roman flicked open his lighter, an heirloom of his fathers, silver crested gold with the Godfrey name engraved in the side.   
  
  Peter leaned in, letting the tip of his makeshift cig' catch ember.  The Werewolf took a long drag, exhaling with the drawn out tilt of his head, sighing. "Much better." Peter kicked his feet, letting the Hammock rock as they both lulled back a bit.   
  
  "Here, Princess." Peter reached into the bag, pulling out another blunt, twisting the end for good measure and blessing the smoke with the utterance of his people and the nod of his chin. "Now open them purrty' little lips." A grin befell the Rumancek as he held out the blunt expectantly.  
  
  Roman had to supress the urge to groan, laugh even. It was ridiculous, what he woul put himself through for Peter, things he would never even tolerate for another's pleasure; but for Peter, it wasn't even a question.  
  
  The Godfrey heir leaned in, striking eyes hard on his others, unblinking as he caught the stoge between his lips with a shake of his head.  
  
  "Light 'em up." Peter mused, taking the lighter from Roman's hands and pressing the flame to the edge of the blunt.  
  
  Roman rolled his eyes, inhaling with fingers pressed gently to the stick between his lips. He didn't cough, barely registered the thickness of the smoke entering his lungs. It was a welcome heaviness, almost, like he was holding something in his lungs that wasn't as bitter as the cigarettes he usually sucked down. This was a weight that spread throughout his entirety, like the loosening of strings pent up within Roman, it was strange, but what stranger was there to embark on between a Werewolf and a Vampire?  
  
  "Good, right?" Peter took another drag, swaying the hammock again.  
  
  "Nothing exemplary," Roman sighed, trying to hide his smile as he leaned back, closing heavy lids. "Not  _completely_ unpleasant."  
  
  "You are a terrible liar," Peter smirked. "You look better than I've seen you since I moved here. You should get stoned more often, man."   
  
  Roman snorted, letting smoke trail from his nostrils in light. "What are you now, my clinical drug dealer?"  
  
  "Lord knows I should be charging you, with all that money you got Godfrey."  
  
  "I could get you locked up for this, just watch."  
  
  "Oh please," Peter laughed. "That shit is so potent the Sherrif'd be haulin' your ass into the cell with me."  
  
  "I'd barely get twenty four hours in that cell and you know it." Roman smirked, shifting in the hammock in slight.  
  
  "A lot can happen in less than twenty four hours, 'specially with them purrty lips'a yours." Peter mused, chuckling.   
  
  Roman perked a brow. "Please, Goldilocks. Not even three bears would be able to save your ass if I got you alone."  
    
  Peter was silenent for a moment, a small breath of laughter lingering in the air surrounding them. A comftorable and all-telling silence.  
  
  "Turn me in, Godfrey. I fuckin' dare you."  
  
  Roman shook his head in slow, closing his eyes once more as he let himself fall into the weight and hold of the hammock, the heat of the boy beside him.  
  
  "Don't tempt me, pup."   
  
  Even with eyes closed, Roman could feel the smile on Peter's lips.  
  
   

**Author's Note:**

> This is half of two prompts requested on my Tumblr by the ever so lovely ohyellowbird (mastveiting), so I hope I can do the prompt some justice!
> 
> I loved the entirety of the idea of Roman, Peter, and drug usage, so why not break it down to let it last a little longer? The more works the merrier!
> 
> xx


End file.
